"All right, Gloria, what the hell do you think you're doing?" Steven asked, more out of annoyance than fear. After a long day at work, the last thing he wanted to deal with was some new lunacy from his crazy-ass wife. He stepped forward, reaching out his good left hand to pin Gloria's right and get rid of the (however minimal) threat she was posing.
    "OW! JEEZUS H. CHRIST!" He quickly withdrew his hand, raising it to his mouth to suck on the little nick she had made in the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger. He tasted blood and oil and dirt, and his annoyance stepped up a level.
    "Stay away from me, Steven, I'm not even fuckin' kidding!" Gloria said, but her voice was shaking. Her dirty-blonde hair had fallen into her eyes, but she didn't dare brush it back because she knew if she did he would come after her. She had to concentrate and keep the cleaver steady and maybe he would just leave her alone and she wouldn't have to...do anything else. "Stay away!" she yelled, as he leaned towards her again. "I'll poke your eye out, don't think I won't! Or I'll cut your pecker off!"
    Steven surveyed the situation with all the concentration he could muster. The main goal here was to get the knife away from Gloria before she could do anymore carving with it (damn, but that little motherbugger was sharp!), then beat her three shades of blue Sunday so she would know better than to pull a stunt like this again. She still sported a fleur-de-lis of bruises on her face and neck from the late dinner on Wednesday, but apparently the lesson hadn't sunk in deep enough. "C'mon baby," he said, putting on his best concerned husband face, "let's talk about this, okay? Let's put the knife down, honey."
    Gloria sniffed back the snot that threatened to trickle down over her lips and tried to steady the trembling in her fingers. The tip of the knife (with its oddly satisfying gleam of red at the tip) was wobbling nearly an inch from center in either direction, but if she concentrated, it stopped. "You want to talk about it? All right, we'll talk about it." She said, but kept hold of the knife, steadying it with both hands. "You shouldn't hit me, Steve, it's not right. It hurts me and it's not right. I'm not your little kid and I'm not Shep and you shouldn't be able to beat the shit out of me whenever you feel like it!" Tears began welling up in her eyes again, for the fifth time today. All day while Steven was at work she had thought and cried and thought some more, didn't get the dishes done or the floor mopped and hadn't even fed Shep, who was now scratching at the back door with all the vim and vigor a Malamute could muster.
    "FUCK!" Steven stepped back again, fumbled an oily rag from the pocket of his coveralls and held it over the gash she had opened across the knuckles of his left hand. My, but the bitch was fast! He began to get an uneasy feeling in his stomach, a feeling like...well, no, damn it, he wasn't scared of his wife, he sure as shit wasn't *scared* of her -- but he also didn't feel like making another grab for her knife.
    The cleaver was dripping blood now, and the part of Gloria that knew better than any of this wanted to wipe it off on her housecoat, but she didn't dare. Steven was quick, he was sly and he was quick, but she had gotten the better of him twice. She felt a quiver run up her spine and thought maybe, just maybe, it was going to be all right. "You just have to show em who's boss," is what Steven always said, and she was going to take his word for it. She tucked her head between her shoulders, planted her feet a little more firmly, and waited.
    "You're right, baby. You know that? You're absolutely right. I shouldn't get angry with you, and I shouldn't hit you. I mean, sometimes you make mistakes, but that's okay, everybody does. It's wrong of me to take out my frustrations on you." Steven had to keep himself from wincing at the words coming out of his mouth. After all, it was his god-given right to discipline his wife, wasn't it? He was master of his own goddamn house, wasn't he? But for now he would have to let her cut his balls off in a metaphorical sense, rather than risk her doing it literally. "I promise I won't hit you any more, ever again." He smiled his most winning smile, sensing the showdown in the trailer's grimy kitchen was coming to a close. He noticed that she hadn't done the dishes yet, which would have to be dealt with quickly and firmly.
    Gloria's tears were getting harder and harder to blink back. The tacky linoleum swam before her eyes, and she realized she was exhausted, ready to collapse into the arms of a loving husband. So she carefully set the knife on the counter...but put her hands into the pockets of her housecoat. She wanted to run and hug him, but three years' worth of painful schooling had taught her some hard lessons, and she let him come to her.
    Steven cocked his fist back and stepped quickly towards Gloria,  to get the first punch in before she could get anywhere near the cleaver. But before he found his mark, there was a loud explosion, incongruously loud in the tiny kitchenette. Behind the back door Shep yipped and redoubled his efforts to scratch through the door. Steven stood dumbfounded, ears ringing, and didn't feel the pain in his gut for the longest time as he stared at his wife through a haze of flying polyester lining. "What the hell do you think..." he asked, but the muzzle sticking out of her housecoat pocket went off again, and for the first time in three years Gloria got the last word.
    "Fuck you."  She said to limp figure on the floor.  Then she dialed the police, reported a murder, and gave them her address.  She dressed quickly, in tight jeans and her red halter top with the matching red headband.  Then it was a small matter of getting the keys to Steven's Dart from his overall pocket (goodness, but there was a lot of blood!), letting Shep in so he'd shut the hell up, and pulling out of the driveway and off into wherever the hell she wanted to go.  Freedom sang in every nerve ending in her body, and she was gone before she could even hear the sirens coming.

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